The Knights of the Round Table
by gonewiththeducks
Summary: The tale of heroism, romances and battles over fifteen years under the command of the Romans. How the knights battled through right to the end and served Rome doing what they do best. Knight OCs and lots of Tristan and Galahad and the others. R&R PLZ!
1. Authors Notes

**Okay everyone, I'm sorry to those who love Tristan but I had to serve the needs of everyone else so I am changing the story about all of the knights and their fifteen years of service under the Romans word. But I swear I will put in more of Tristan of the others probably because he's my fave knight as well. **

**Disclamier: I don't own _King Arthur_ I only own the added characters. Nothing else so don't sue me okay!**

**I want everyones honest opinion please and it would be a great help if everyone could review thanks because I need to know if you'll all like this story.**

**Thanks king.mozza XOXO**


	2. New Adventures to come

**THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE**

_Some are born to live, others are born to die._

_Some are born to create life; others are born to take it._

The cold night wind whipped around the boy's body savagely. It told him they were coming. The Romans were on their way.

Tristan was different, much different. He wasn't one to socialise much like the other boys his age. But he wasn't shy, he was just quiet.

But his mind was straight and he worked well. People considered themselves lucky if they saw a smile on his face. It was quite rare to see Tristan's white teeth.

But the day he had first been handed a sword, people began to wonder. He was born to kill. He could wield the sword with perfection now just at the age of ten and was gifted with a bow. His alert and keen senses helped him to avoid danger and the sort.

Some people blamed his strange ways on growing up without a mother or a father. But others said he bore a demon soul.

But Tristan didn't care. He wasn't provoked easily.

The boy hurried down the hill, towards the village. He needed to get there quick, to warn the others.

As he raced into the circle of adults sitting around a campfire they all stared. What had got the boy so upset?

He looked around and walked casually up to his uncle.

"Is something wrong Tristan?"

His uncle looked concern. Nothing ever got Tristan in such a hurry except for when he sparred with the other boys.

Tristan looked up with the same old vacant expression.

"The Romans are here uncle," he said normally.

He wasn't one to take all the attention and had calmed down so as not to.

Everyone gasped. Mothers ran to their little huts in which they lived to find their sons. The men all gathered and began talking about what to do. Should they hand their sons over or fight for them?

Tristan's uncle seemed about ready to have a fit. It wasn't because his nephew would be taken, but his own son Percival.

Tristan had found that his uncle favoured Percival over him but he didn't mind. After all, he was only his nephew and seemed almost like a burden.

Tristan watched as the parents and relatives of those young boys whom would be taken rush about and hug and kiss their sons.

Tristan didn't feel alone because he had no parents.

He had never known them and really had no wish to know them.

"Hurry love, we need to hide Percival!" cried Tristan's aunt.

Tristan watched his uncle shake his head almost miserably.

"We cannot do a thing my love. They would hunt him down and kill him. All we can do his hope that our son makes it".

There was not a single note of sympathy for Tristan. Not even from his aunt and uncle.

So Tristan kept to himself through those next few hours while they waited for the Romans to arrive. He set about preparing for the journey.

He studied all the horses that grazed near the creek. Half of them hadn't even been broken in. The men hadn't been worried about horses these past few days.

Tristan eagerly walked up one particular horse, a white stallion. He was merely a colt still and had never bared a saddle. Tristan slowly reached out and patted the stallion on the muzzle with affection.

The white stallion allowed him to come closer so that he could rub a hand down it's long slender neck.

He would take this horse. He wouldn't let anyone stop him.

The hours past and soon the Romans were but a minutes ride away and everyone waited painfully for their children to be taken from them.

Tristan stood with the white stallion beside him and a rope tied around it's neck. Tristan held the other hand clamly in his hand.

He wasn't unhappy to be leaving this camp yet he didn't want to leave Sarmatia. It was his home. He loved the land and freeness of it all but the people were something he didn't along with.

But then again he was sure it would be the same where ever he went.

When the Romans picked out the boys they wanted to take as knights both Tristan and Percival were the only ones chosen.

The other parents wept with joy at their sons not being picked but Tristan's aunt grabbed at her son as he mounted his father's own horse.

Tristan mounted the white stallion, glad that no one had noticed he had taken it and rode up alongside the other boys from other places.

His face was expressionless and unreadable. That was the way he liked it.

Calmly the wind blew through and told him of adventures yet to come...

**So there you have it. I just had to start off with Tristan. But the next chapter will be of all of them but please R & R because I won't write this if you don't want it. Any who...here it is, the story of the Knights of the Round Table**


	3. Don't be Afraid

Argus watched the young boys throughout the whole trip to towards the ocean where they would board a ship and then go on to Briton.

So far now he had gathered forty-one boys and meant to gather another nine.

All together that would make fifty.

"Sir, one of the boys is ill," reported Fred. Argus merely nodded to the soldier and ignored the fact that one of the boys he had gathered was sick.

To tell the truth Argus wasn't all that fussed on collecting mere boys from this bare and strange land called Sarmatia.

Argus would have much rathered be back in Rome with his wife but the pope had insisted that he, Argus Imperious the great commander, do this is the name of the Roman Empire.

"Sir should we not stop and allow the boys to rest?" queried Fred.

Argus just shook his head and continued riding his horse towards the coast.

He had no pity for these boys at the moment. They hadn't earned it yet.

* * *

Lancelot stood ready with his father's hand on his shoulder and the reins of a tall, black stallion in his own hand. 

He bit his lip as the party of Roman soldiers and also Sarmatian boys got closer and closer to his own small camp.

"Father, they are here".

His father also watched the soldiers sadly.

"They have come".

As the soldiers came closer and closer by the minute, Lancelot's father turned him around and looked into his son's eyes with a sorry and miserable look.

"There is a legend that fallen knights return as great horses, he will bare you well," he said strongly as he nodded to the stallion that had once been his own until now.

"Lancelot!" Lancelot!" came the voice of a young little girl.

All heads turned to the girl as she ran towards him while he mounted. He palm was held out and on it lay a small, wooden, carving of a lions head tied to a piece of string so it could be worn around your neck.

"Lancelot," she panted as he took the keepsake and his father embraced the small girl tightly.

"Don't be afraid, I will return," Lancelot said bravely as turned the horse and made him trot on towards the Roman soldiers or pigs as he and his father called them.

"How long shall we be gone?" asked Lancelot as he rode up alongside what seemed to be the commander.

"Fifteen years, not including the months it'll take to get you to your post," answered the Roman abruptly.

Lancelot sighed deeply and turned to face his home at the sound of his father calling his name.

"Lancelot! ARRRRRRRRRRGH!" let out the old man in a battle cry.

Lancelot fought back the tears as he watched his family cry out for him in love.

His father stood with one arm around his wife and other two daughters and the other arm raised in honour of his son.

Lancelot took one last look at his home and went on in search of victory remembering his own words, "Don't be afraid".

**READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1**


	4. The first Night

"Come on boy, show us what your made of then," said Argus cruelly.

The tall, built boy by the name of Bors stood in the middle of the camp and his legs seemed fixed to the ground in shock.

He had been bragging about how good a fighter he was to all the other boys and Argus had decided to amuse himself by putting the boy on the spot.

Really, Argus doubted wether the boy had even touched a sword.

"Well come on, you can use my sword," said Argus handing Bors his own sword.

Bors took the sword with a gulp and looked nervously around.

"Who will match the great Bors?"

Argus was really just being nasty and teasing but that was his way of entertaining himself.

Another boy stood up bravely and took a sword from Fred as he held it out to him.

Argus didn't know this ones name but he seemed quite interesting.

He was also tall and strongly built like Bors. But unlike Bors's cheery and chubby face he had a long, straight face that made him look miserable.

"I will," he said in a deep, sad voice.

Argus gave a small chuckle of pleasure as this strange boy stepped towards the wary Bors.

Almost immediately Bors lunged at the boy whom blocked with great skill for such a young lad. Argus guessed he was only about eleven or twelve.

Bors took another lunge but was blocked once again.

For awhile this went on and Argus began to get weary of such poor entertainment.

_I have a lot to teach these little savage-kids, _he thought to himself with a yawn.

But then all of a sudden things became exciting. The other boy, obviously bored of the same old attacks from Bors, blocked one of Bors's moves and then quickly threw the sword to his other hand and swung the sword at Bors.

When everyone was held in suspense, the boy managed to hold the sword still at Bors's neck while Bors looked as though he had just shit himself.

Without even the slightest of smiles, the boy handed the sword back to Fred whom took it with a gaping mouth.

"What's your name boy?" queried Argus with interest.

"Dagonet".

The boy merely gave an answer and then lay down and fell asleep with his head resting on his horse's saddle.

Argus watched the boy for awhile in wonder.

Dagonet had a lot of potential. That was for sure. He seemed skilled in sword-fighting but Argus had a feeling he would also be good in strength as well.

Obviously Bors would be good with strength as well but he still had to have some training with the sword fighting.

* * *

Galahad lay awake all night trembling from the cold, and with fear.

Pictures of his mother and father were still clear in his mind from when he had been taken from his own home.

Already he longed to be playing in the river with the other boys who had been luckily left behind.

He had been the only one from his own little home. He had no idea why either.

Growing up, Galahad had always been little Galahad. He showed no strength or capability to be a knight and everyone had been surprised that he had been picked.

With anger, he thought that maybe he had just been chosen as a cruel joke by the man named Argus whom was their leader.

Silent tears swelled his eyes as he sat up and looked around himself.

No tents stood; instead everyone had been made to sleep merely with a blanket and their saddles as bedding.

Galahad sniffed a little and wiped his eyes. He was only seven, he wasn't meant for this yet. He wasn't sure if he had ever been meant for this

* * *

Gawain and Gareth lay awake while chatting quite normally about their leaving home.

Neither were all too happy about it but as they had been taught, they had already accepted it.

But having eachother, for they were brothers, made it all the more easy.

"Gareth do you think we will ever see mother and father again?"

Gareth thought abut the question and nodded with a smile.

"I will live I am sure of it and so will you Gawain. We will go on and make our family proud we will".

This answer brightened Gawain. His brother always knew best and that was good enough for him.

Gareth never told a lie and if they were both going to live then Gawain was sure it was the truth.

"I for one will take a wife with me when I go home," said Gareth certainly.

Gawain couldn't suppress his laughter.

"What would you want with a Briton eh?"

Gareth just shrugged his shoulders. "It would be something to show father".

Gawain held back his laughter for he knew Gareth was perfectly serious. Gareth was always showing their parents things that he had achieved or made and obviously he thought marrying was an accomplishment.

The boys continued on with their conversation not caring if any of the other boys heard them or not.

* * *

"Tristan what are you doing?" asked a nervous Percival.

Tristan found a sort of dry humour that his cousin would jump at even the slightest movement from anywhere at all.

Percival had grown up being petted and spoilt his whole life wether he wanted it or not. Tristan wasn't jealous of him it was just that sometimes Percival was a little self involved. Well actually a 'little' would be an underestimate. He was very self-involved.

"I am trying to sleep would you believe," answered Tristan.

Percival knew he was being sarcastic although you wouldn't be able to tell by Tristan's voice. Tristan's voice was always impassive and unreadable like his looks and ways.

"Okay".

Percival just lay down, too petrified to even look a different way than straight up.

Meanwhile Tristan merely shut his eyes and listened carefully to every sound as he drifted off to sleep.

**I'm begining to introduce the knights and I will add some others that will play sort of main parts. Plese send reviews and flares are welcome!**


	5. A Strange Addition

Lancelot watched with pity as the small girl clung to her brother from behind him on a tall, brown mare.

Argus was talking with the parents which Lancelot thought strange for he hadn't seen Argus do that to anyone else.

The young girl wasn't crying or sobbing but in her face it was clear that her brother departing her was perhaps unbearable.

The brother sat watching his parents and Argus talking with a sad expression. He actually looked very depressed.

Lancelot felt for the boy. He too had a sister that he missed dearly, two in fact.

Immediately his hand trailed up to the lion pendant that hung around his neck. And with a tight squeeze of it, memories of him and Layla came flooding back.

He wished desperately to be still playing with his little sister and chatting enjoyably with Trish whom was his elder sister.

Many nights Lancelot had sat just talking with his Trish about anything they found interesting. Many nights they had been interrupted by little Layla who had pleaded with them to convince their parents not to send her to bed.

"Suddenly Argus came trotting back on his steed with a stern expression.

The boy and the girl had dismounted from their mare and were now hugging their parents tightly.

Their mother was crying uncontrollably and tears fell from the little girls eyes.

Also the father had watery eyes but the boy was trying to put on a brave face.

Then strangely both the boy and his sister remounted and joined Argus and the other boys.

All of the boys and Roman soldiers looked questioningly at Argus as the boy rode up with his sister.

Then with a nod of a kick of his horse, Argus raced off towards the coast with everyone racing after him.

Lancelot thought it very strange that the girl had come also.

_The parents must have sold her, _he thought.

But he didn't say a word to anyone as they rode on.

By night they had collected three more boys and obtained four more horses of which had no riders.

They set up camp beside a small forest and a little more talk was welcomed from the boys.

It seemed they had all decided they had better get to know eachother for they had no choice really.

But Lancelot sat silently. Though he wasn't the only one.

He watched the boy and his sister chatting with the one called Bors. But the girl wasn't really talking. She just sat there listening.

Lancelot stood up and walked over to her.

She looked warily at him as he sat down and her brother looked at him also out of the corner of his eye.

"Hello".

Lancelot tried to sound cheerful but he wasn't exactly feeling it.

"Hello," answered the girl quietly.

She looked about eight, maybe nine which was only two or three years younger than Lancelot himself.

"Whats your name?" he asked.

The girl began to look at him with interest. It seemed she was coming out of her shell a little.

"Keighley".

Keighley. It suited her for no reason that Lancelot could think of.

"Whats your name?"

"Lancelot".

Keighley's hair was cut very short, down to her ears but her bright blue eyes stood out remarkably. Lancelot loved how the moonlight reflected them.

"How come you're here Keighley?"

The little girl bit her lip and a look of sadness came upon her face.

"Because my father sold me for he had not a cent to feed us with".

For such a young girl she spoke very well and clearly for her age.

Lancelot nodded his head to show he understood her sadness and didn't say anymore. He wasn't all that good at comforting.

Bedivere watched the boy whom had talked to Keighley out of the corner of his eye. He was quite protective of his sister.

He knew his father had not wished to sell her but with no money the beautiful little girl would have soon gone to waste. Their father had felt that in Briton she would do better and most probably wed a knight if she travelled with Bedivere.

Now Bedivere saw it as his duty to protect and watch over Keighley. She was a brave girl but somehow, without meaning too, she always got into trouble.

Bedivere had become acquainted with the loud and boastful Bors whom was quite funny but talked an awful lot. Maybe too much for Bedivere's liking.

Bedivere listened patiently as Bors went on about how he would learn the Romans tactics over his years of being a knight and then afterwards would crush them down to the dirt.

The night went on and soon Bors grew tired and fell asleep still mumbling his mischievous plan to get back at the Romans.

Bedivere made sure that Keighley was comfortable and then fell asleep beside her, giving his own blanket to her.

The night went quickly and when they awoke, Bedivere felt he had only been asleep for a few minutes.

He saddled his horse as did everyone else and they moved on eating their poorly breakfast of bread and water on the way.

Keighley seemed quite content to just watch the scenery go by.

Bedivere rode alongside a boy named Gawain and they soon chatted friendlily about their homes.

Bedivere soon met Gawain's brother Gareth and the three were soon so engrossed in their conversation that they almost didn't realise they had stopped to pick up yet another two boys.

* * *

Argus had now reached his limit. He now led fifty Sarmatian boys, one girl and his soldiers towards the coast and he didn't exactly feel he had achieved much. 

It took a lot to impress Argus; it even took a lot to impress himself. He was a hard going and very abrupt man.

The girl he had bought looked as though she would make a good maid to take with them. Argus had decided he would teach the girl the methods of healing so she could be of some use.

One night he took her aside and began by showing her how he treated a cut on one of the boys. She listened intently and nodded at almost every word from Argus.

Pretty soon they reached the coast where a ship was docked waiting for them.

They set up camp on the beach and few of the boys played in the ocean while the others tried to sleep. But most of them were either excited about sailing or they were just too depressed about leaving home to do anything.

**The next chappy will be short and sweet and then after it will automatically be in Briton because a long chapter about sailing is just plain boring.**

**R & R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PLZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11**


	6. Saying Goodbye

Fifty Sarmatian boys and one girl leant on the side of the ship and watched as their home slowly and painfully faded out of view.

No one said a word. They all felt the same way.

Each and every child there wanted dearly to be back home, in Sarmatia but they knew it couldn't be.

Memories flooded through their minds and many tears were shed. Even the strong and manly Dagonet wept just a little. But it was only one or two tears falling from his eyes, no words or sounds

Tristan stood staring plainly at the land. He showed no emotion yet he did feel sad and torn up inside.

Percival was trying to act as though he was taking it well, but really Tristan knew he was trying to make himself out to be great when Tristan was well aware that when Percival was alone he would sob for his mother.

Bors held back the flooding tears and took it like a man although his face showed a hint of grief. Finally he sighed and allowed a miserable look to flow out onto his face.

Gareth and Gawain had their hearts set on impressing their father when they returned. They thought it their duty to make a good name for their family, even on another island.

Bedivere had one arm wrapped around Keighley where she had both hers wrapped around him. He wasn't sure if they would return. It was not likely that Keighley would if she found a husband. But would he return himself, without her?

Lancelot merely stood there, his face looking more sombre than ever. His heart reached out for Layla and Trish and his parents. But he knew that it was unlikely he would ever see his father again. His father was old and worn from his own battles and was sure to go in about five more years.

Argus watched as the boys said farewell to their home in their own ways and the first hint of pity for them crept silently inside of him.

His eyes wandered from boy to boy and he wondered which ones would make.

His doubts that hardly any of them would make it to the very end were very strong and he left them all to their grief and sorrow to say goodbye to their home.


	7. Briton

Tristan took the reins of his brilliant stallion quickly from the Romans hands and immediately began soothing the spooked horse.

It had been a long journey across the oceans and horses weren't accustomed to being stored beneath the deck of a ship for that long.

It took a long time for all of the horses to be brought out from the ship and when finally they were all out, Argus addressed the Sarmatians'.

"Welcome to Briton".

Although he tried to make it seem so, his voice wasn't all that enthusiastic. Tristan had guessed by now that Argus didn't really want to be there.

"Each of you will be given a placement where you will train for the next four months. Then you will each be given your posts which will rarely change. It's simple and easy and would be quite sad if these orders weren't followed".

No one made a sound as Argus waited to be challenged. He gave a triumphant smile and continued.

"Now you will be given a ribbon each and then you will go to the pole marked with the same coloured ribbon".

Argus pointed to a row of poles, each marked with a ribbon. There five poles meaning there would be ten boys in each group.

Tristan waited patiently and boredly as the ribbons were handed out.

He patted his horse and whispered in his ear calmly.

He still had yet to name the beast but couldn't find a suitable name for it. It was quite a wonderful creature and was obviously a Sarmatian breed.

"Take it boy!"

Tristan had been so engrossed in his stallion he hadn't realised that a Roman soldier stood with his hand out and a faded, pale blue ribbon.

Tristan took it without a word and took his place behind the designated pole.

He was the last of the ten boys surrounding their pole.

One of the other boys was Keighley's brother. Tristan did not yet know his name but he was sure he soon would.

A tall sturdy man that didn't seem much younger than Argus walked up to their group with a cruel smile upon his disgusting face.

"We are going to have lots of fun aren't we boys?" he said slyly.

* * *

"More! More!" 

The shouts from their temporary commander, Hangis, were becoming unbearable.

They had only recently arrived at their lodgings and already he had them outside doing laps around the archery range.

Bedivere knew he was a cruel and selfish man who enjoyed watching Sarmatians suffer.

But Bedivere really didn't care about Hangis right now; his thoughts were on his sister. She had accompanied Argus to his lodgings when they had arrived and ever since Bedivere had been worried sick about her.

His worst conclusion on what would happen to her was that they would be separated for ever. Bedivere hated to think of that.

* * *

Percival didn't show it, but secretly he almost fainted with happiness when he and Tristan were put in the same group. 

He was homesick and completely miserable, so much that he was on the verge of tears.

Percival didn't like his cousin at all for the lack of manners and also his social ways but at least it was some sort of protection.

He and Tristan had never got along, that was for sure but Percival figured they may aswell right now when they only had eachother.

Little did he know that Tristan felt completely the opposite.

* * *

Finally night came and all ten boys staggered into bed tired and worn out. 

They all shared a room with wooden frames and hard blankets as poor excuses for beds.

Bors was the one to break the silence as they all lay upon their beds.

"I'm still gonna throttle the Romans when all this is over".

A small wave of slight giggles from all the boys went through the room. Bors had lightened the mood just a bit.

Bors was older than most of the boys whom ranged from about seven to eleven. Bors himself was fourteen, going on fifteen.

While most of the others were feeling homesick and sorry for themselves, Bors was nether sad nor glad to be in Briton.

He didn't really know why, or he just didn't want to admit why to himself because the truth was too deep.

So Bors sat there in a confused and slightly plain state and every now and then he would say something to lighten the mood.

"Am I talking to myself?" he asked sarcastically, sick of the awkward silence.

Bors sat up and looked around. The moonlight shone brightly through the window and Bors could see just about everyone's faces clearly.

His eyes met those of a young lad; one of the youngest but not quite. He had black curls that sat atop his little head and bright, glistening but miserable eyes.

"Cheer up pup, I hear the women here are quite good," joked Bors. He laughed aloud as the boy's face turned from gloomy to surprised and awkward. Obviously he wasn't accustomed to talking like this.

"Good at what?"

A great roar of laughter filled the room from a number of boys and the littlest looked embarrassed and shocked, not knowing what to say or think.

"Whats your name?" asked a boy blonde hair.

"Galahad".

"Well Galahad where abouts did you come from?"

The little Galahad looked a little nervous and shy as he felt the stares of all the boys in the room.

"North of Sarmatia".

"Well little Galahad we had better give you a good teaching then shouldn't we".

Galahad just shrugged nervously not really knowing what to do. He then lay down and rolled over trying to get to sleep as the other boys talked.

Bors looked over to the blonde haired boy. He sat next to another that looked very similar to him. Bors guessed they were brothers.

_I think its Gawait or Gawain or something, _he thought to himself.

Bors turned and began to chat with Bedivere, the one he had talked to the before.

* * *

Lancelot sat silently against the wall with a tired and miserable expression while everyone else talked. Well almost everyone.

Apart from himself there were two others that were not talking. The little boy Galahad was trying to sleep away his embarrassment as he curled up underneath the scratchy blankets he had.

But Lancelot's interest was caught by the other silent boy.

He had chosen the bed underneath the window and sat on the window sill, one leg propped up and the other stretched from one side of the window to the other.

But what caught Lancelot's interest wasn't that the boy was sitting on a window sill, it was that his face and ways were completely and utterly unreadable. There was not single air of expression about him.

Lancelot marvelled silently at how well the boy's emotions and feelings were hid and that his straight-face never faltered.

Another boy with tidy, short, brown hair crawled up onto the boy's bed and began to talk to him. When all he got for answers were slight movements of the head he went back to his own bed not looking happy.

Lancelot's thoughts rested on the silent boy for a moment or two more until they soon changed to a different person.

He wondered what Layla was doing at that moment.

His beloved little sister was probably being comforted underneath a pile of furs by their mother. He could just see the little girl sobbing uncontrollably and his mother cradling the child in her arms.

His fingers automatically wound themselves around the string that held the lion pendant around his neck.

His heart gave a great thump, like a roar.

**Sorry I changes from Galahad being the youngest to him being one of the youngest but not quite. I thought it sounded better.**

**Read and Review PLZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All flames and others welcome!**


	8. Reluctance

"No like this".

Argus corrected the girls mistake on the Roman soldier's wound and she made an 'oh' motion with her mouth.

Keighley listened intently as the commander instructed her on how to dress wounds and apply creams.

As soon as they had arrived he had made her become familiar with a small pouch of healing remedies that most soldiers carried with them.

Keighley had the feeling that the commander wanted her to be a healer of some sort. She didn't really know if she wanted to do that. She had always been more prone to causing damage than fixing it.

But then again she did belong to him now and it was really his choice what she did.

"Now you have a go," said the commander.

Keighley looked around confusedly.

"On what sir?"

The commander suddenly pulled out a knife, took the soldier's unharmed arm and sliced a nice clean cut down his arm that would surely leave a scar.

Keighley looked at him with astonishment as the solider screamed in shock.

Then without thinking twice, Keighley hurried to cover the wound for the poor soldier. He dabbed it lightly with soft cloth and a little rum then she wrapped a tight bandage around it.

The soldier cradled his newest wounded limb and sat there moaning in pain and shock.

Keighley turned to looked at her master and found him with a slight smile on his face that showed a hint of proudness.

"You will do well".

And with that he stood up and left the soldiers' quarters. Keighley remained there for a moment, chatting kindly with the soldier until she decided to head to her own small but quaint room.

It was only filled by a bed, drawer and a small desk but that was more than what she had ever had before.

Keighley had never even slept in a proper bed before even though this was a poorly one at that. Still, it was bed.

She slept peacefully and when she awoke the next morning she met the eyes of the commander.

"Um- good morning si," she said awkwardly.

The commander gave a slight nod and held out a large and heavy book that was battered with age.

"I can't read".

The commander nodded understandingly. "I know and that is why you will learn. By the end of this month you should be able to read reasonably enough and then by the end of the next four months you should have finished this book".

Keighley took it in but felt as though it went straight out the other ear.

"What is the book about?"

"Well that's for you to find out".

And with that the commander left a confused and sleepy Keighley sitting in her bed staring at a book on her desk she had no idea what was about.

She got up and dressed from the plain, too-big tunic top she had been given as a night dress and put on her dress. It was old and tattered and had been worn for over a year being cleaned every single day.

Keighley walked over to the small desk and opened the very first page. She had seen only one other book in her whole life and then she hadn't even known what it was.

There were black markings all over the pages, hundreds of them and Keighley was sure they meant something.

To her delight there were also drawings in the book. They were fine sketches of plants and shrubs.

Then Keighley turned a page to find a series of pictures that seemed to be instructing something for there were arrows pointing to them. They were mostly the same and only had a few different things about them.

"They are called diagrams".

Keighley turned around in fright to find a plump woman standing behind her with her own pile of books. She was old and had white hair and had a kind smile.

"Oh sorry to frighten you dear. My name is Hanna and I will be your tutor".

Keighley didn't really know what she meant and it must have been obvious because Hanna continued explaining.

"I am to teach you how to read and perhaps write if we have time".

Keighley let out a smile and nodded. Hanna sat down on the bed and laid out her books. Keighley sat down in front of her looking at the books.

"So we'll start with recognising letters".

* * *

Dagonet listened to every word from Hangis and obeyed every command. Even though the Roman was cruel and hateful towards them he was still a good teacher and skilled in the arts of combat.

Dagonet was a quick learner and soon was regarded as the smartest in the group.

"You brat boys need to toughen up you hear! Learn to ignore cuts and scratches ok!"

But still, Hangis was really quite abusive even if he was a good teacher.

Dagonet looked over at a red haired boy with a great big bruise across his cheek where Hangis had used the back of his hand quite forcefully. The boys name was Kay and seemed extremely timid but he was the youngest so he had reason to be.

Even now when it had been hours after his blow from Hangis he still shook with fright.

Dagonet had immediately comforted the boy when Hangis had his back turned but he was afraid it hadn't helped Kay much.

"Now you and you! Your turn to spar!"

Hangis had cruel glint in his eye as he pointed at Dagonet and another boy. Dagonet stepped forward and immediately knew the fight was unfair. The boy he was to duel was much shorter and also younger. He looked about nine whereas Dagonet was fifteen.

Dagonet decided to go easy on the poor little blonde kid.

They both stepped forward into the sparring ring and raised their swords ready to attack at Hangis's shouts.

"Whats your name?" asked Dagonet so that only he and the boy could hear.

"Gareth. And yours?"

"Dagonet".

When hangis shouted for them to go, Dagonet let out a light attack but was surprised when he received a harsh blow that he only just blocked.

Gareth wasn't going easy and obviously Dagonet didn't need to either.

They fought on and on, Gareth never faulting but it was obvious Dagonet was the better fighter. Secretly Dagonet had seen a few ways he could have gotten the better of Gareth with but he hadn't taken them for ptiy of the boy. He obviously wanted show he was a good fighter.

After about an hour of duelling Gareth became tired and Dagonet only just felt ready to give a proper fight although he didn't.

Hangis ordered them to stop and sent another two boys out into the ring to fight.

Dagonet went to get a drink of water and was followed by Gareth.

"You're a good fighter," remarked the boy.

"Thankyou".

"Did you fight back home?"

"Yes".

"Why?"

"Because I had to".

Dagonet was bombarded with questions about his past for the rest of the day from Gareth but was reluctant to answer them and many of them he didn't.

**Okay so now I've clarified that dagonet has a past that he isn't willing to share.**


	9. Looking after Keighley

Gareth staring out the window on the silent kid's bed. He had been out for sometime now and Gareth didn't think he would mind if he just sat there for a little while.

He stared out at the night sky. He didn't think it was near as nice as the night sky in Sarmatia but it would have to do for the next fifteen years.

Gawain slept loudly in his own bed not far off and Gareth slowly turned to look at his brother. The two didn't make it well known that they were twins for in Sarmatia it was considered witchery but they made it extremely clear that they were brothers. They had always gotten on so well that their parents had thought that there had been something wrong with them because siblings never got along. Well except for Gareth and Gawain.

The thought of his parents suddenly sent a great thud to his heart. Oh how he longed for them. He and Gawain had spent long and enjoyable days hunting with their father and helping their mother around whom suffered dearly and could not walk by herself. She always told them it was because she had been born wrong.

Gareth turned back to the window. He knew this suffering and homesickness would continue for a long while until and then most likely he would forget it all like his father had said he had done.

Suddenly Gareth was alerted by movement outside the window. He saw it again and realised someone was hiding behind the water trough just outside in the yard.

He peered out into the darkness and anxiously and looked for more movement but it was a fair while before any came. He waited and waited, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he was unable to sleep.

"What are you looking at Gareth?"

Gareth turned around quickly to find Bedivere standing behind him. Over the past few days Bedivere, Gareth and Gawain also had become quite familiar with eachother and some might even say they were close to being friends.

"Something moved out there".

Bedivere joined Gareth on the bed and they both searched for any sort of movement. But just as Gareth was looking to the left he caught a glimpse of a person racing around the building to the right. But he just missed it by a little.

But Bedivere saw it.

"I-ah-got to go".

And with that he hurried out of the room leaving Gareth sitting by himself with curiosity creeping inside of him. Gareth wondered what Bedivere had seen and then he thought maybe Bedivere had found a girl or was secretly trying to escape.

Whatever it was it kept Gareth from sleeping that was for sure.

* * *

"Keighley!" called out Bedivere in a hoarse whisper. There was no answer.

He had been certain it had been Keighley outside their quarters just minutes ago and had hurried away so that Gareth would not realise who it had been. But now he couldn't find her. He knew that if Hangis caught him leaving their quarters after dark he would get a good whipping but Bedivere cared not for his own safety but that of his sister's. It was his duty to protect her.

"Psst! Keighley!" he whispered roughly out into the dark from behind a barrel.

He looked out into the dark, waiting desperately for the girl to show herself but he was waiting for some time.

_Maybe I was just seeing things, _he thought.

Suddenly he heard shuffling noises behind him and he contained a scream as someone leapt down from the roof right beside him. He lay sprawled out on the ground panting with shock. And there crouched Keighley with a cheeky smile across her face.

"Oh for god's sake Keighley what do you think you're doing sneaking up on me?"

Keighley just shrugged her shoulders insolently and blinked innocently.

Bedivere caught his breath and sat up right while Keighley made herself comfortable. Bedivere looked at his sister with deep, brotherly affection. Now Keighley looked like a cute little girl, only eight with gorgeous blue eyes and wild, wavy hair that only reached her jaw. But Bedivere knew that with time she would grow into a beautiful and almost irresistible woman. Like their mother had once been.

Bedivere vowed he would never let her turn out like his mother. It wasn't that their father was a bad man or anything for he had never wronged them meaningfully but Bedivere wanted a strong and sturdy life for Keighley.

"So how have you been brother?"

Keighley's sweet, childish voice would melt most adult's hearts. It was one of the reasons she always got away with everything.

"Non-stop labour just about. We have been made to train and train from dusk til dawn everyday so far and honestly I am about to drop dead".

He gave a small laugh as Keighley listened impatiently with an excited look on her face. She really wanted to tell him something Bedivere could tell. He knew his sister like the back of his hand. To others she was quite confusing and hurried but to Bedivere she was as clear as the sky back home.

"What is it Keighley,"

She almost burst as she began explaining.

"Well if you really must know," she said making sound as though she wasn't that happy to tell him; which was all an act. "Argus said he's going to teach me how to make sores better".

"You mean be a healer?"

"Oh whatever but that's not all, I have a new teacher now and I'm learning how to read and write!"

Bedivere almost screamed with joy. His sister, learn to read? It was enough to celebrate. Bedivere was certain this was one of the best of starts for Keighley. She would become an accomplished woman and when she came age of marrying she would be able to marry someone higher in society perhaps.

"That's wonderful Keighley!"

"I know. I already know what the letter A looks like".

Keighley found a twig and made a marking upon the ground. Bedivere guessed it was an A. He gloated at his sister as he saw how proud she was. He truly was happy for her.

"I'm so happy for you sister".

"Thankyou Bed but oh I feel really sorry for you cause you don't like your job".

Bedivere almost laughed at how the small girl spoke. Hopefully she would learn to speak proper and be able to talk elegantly as well.

"Its not so bad I suppose".

"Are you kidding Bed? I don't know what you think so bad about it. I would honestly rather be learning how to fight than read".

This didn't please Bedivere. He turned his gleeful face to a cross one and immediately Keighley changed her face to a sorry one.

"I don't want to hear you say that again Keighley. Right now you're getting an education and theres nothing better than that. You must forget the old ways and become a lady otherwise you will turn out like mother and father".

This didn't go well with Keighley this time.

"There isn't anything wrong with mother and father," she protested with her arms crossed.

"I never said there was Keighley I just meant-"

But he didn't finish because at that moment Keighley stood up crossly and stalked off in a mood. Bedivere wished he hadn't spoken so sternly. But he needed to be firm with her, for her own good. But was he doing it right? It was like being a father. But Bedivere didn't know if he was any good at that for he had never been a father. And right at that moment he hoped he wasn't any time soon.

**I hope I've made it clear that Bedivere feels a strong need to protect his sister from this new place yet help her to strive in it. But he is a little confused on how to and isn't really having a good time with it.**


	10. Similar yet Different

**Just so we're clear, it has been a few weeks since the last chapter and now the boys are being taught sword-work. **

Tristan admired his foe's attacks as he blocked another swing from the opposition's sword. His attacks were swift and nimble yet each was unlike. They were similar yet different.

Tristan lunged at his attacker and then slashed it in front of them. This frightened the foe and they stumbled backwards on to their back. When they looked up Tristan had his sword pointed at their throat.

"That's enough".

Tristan withdrew his sword at Hangis's order and held out a hand to Lancelot. Lancelot brushed himself off and stood up straight as Tristan sheathed his sword. Tristan and Lancelot had strived over the past few weeks and Hangis always made it known that they were the best fighters with swords. He would put the other boys down for their lack of ability or strength when ever the chance came. Tristan knew that Hangis didn't even like him or Lancelot; it was just any chance to pick at people.

Tristan removed himself from the ring and Lancelot followed. They were replaced by Percival and Kay. Tristan leant on the ring fence and watched as his cousin lunged ridiculously at the smaller boy. Percival was not meant for fighting, that was for sure.

Over the past weeks Percival had been relying on Tristan a lot to make everything easier. But Tristan had made no attempt to do so.

He didn't feel hatred or anything really for the boy; he was really just another Sarmatian kid that was taken by the Romans.

Lancelot leant on the fence beside Tristan and he could feel the curly-haired by looking at him. It was just some sort of instinct all though he couldn't see any of Lancelot.

"Yes?"

Lancelot took awhile to answer. But finally he did.

"Why do you never feel anything Tristan? We have been here for weeks now and I have not seen you feel one emotion ever, not one. Were you hurt in some way back home?"

Tristan gave a small, dry laugh of amusement which almost sent Lancelot into shock as he continued to watch the fight without turning towards his questioner. He obviously found this funny.

"I'm honoured that you have come to realise my ways".

Tristan didn't mind this boy, Lancelot. He and Tristan were alike but also quite altered in a lot of ways. Both were merely just going along with the flow and taking the ride but Lancelot seemed more to need someone by his side, a friend. Whereas Tristan didn't need anyone, he never had.

Similar yet Different.

Lancelot watched with puzzlement as Tristan walked away and around the building.

They were at the training camp with all the other groups of boys as well, although each group kept to themselves. Tristan walked on and came to a water pump where he quickly grabbed a drink and washed his face.

Then all of a sudden he spun around with his fists ready at the slight sound of someone moving. He stood there looking at the alarmed girl that stood behind him carrying a water bucket. He could see that he had frightened her and politely moved away from the pump.

"Sorry, I was just being- alert," he said to her as she began to fill the bucket.

"It's alright. I shouldn't have snuck up on you".

There was something about the girl that was familiar but Tristan just couldn't put his finger on it. Then all of a sudden it came to him.

"You're Bedivere's sister".

The girl nodded in reply but didn't speak.

"Your brother speaks fondly of you and very often". With these words the girl looked up with a sort of surprised look. She finished gathering her water and stood up straight looking at Tristan. Tristan couldn't understand why his words had come as a shock.

"Really?"

"Yes, why is that so strange? After all he is your brother," queried Tristan curiously.

The girl heaved her bucket from the ground and pulled it up to her stomach, placing both arms around it.

"Well you see Bedivere and I had a fight not four weeks ago and well-we- haven't talked since, partly my fault. I would have thought he would be sore at me".

And with a shrug, she walked off carrying her load with amazing ease. Tristan watched her go with curiosity creeping into his mind. She was so strange a girl, thinking her brother would hate her after one small argument. Truth be told, Tristan had heard the argument and didn't understand what was so big about it. He had been in the stables close by and heard it all.

Bedivere and his sister were so much alike at first look but when you studied them more, Tristan could see the differences. Both were strong and eager to succeed. But Keighley was more of the rebel than anything by what Tristan had seen so far. The night she and her brother had fought, she had been on the roof and often Tristan had seen her hiding from a chubby lady that he would suppose to be her tutor. But Bedivere wasn't strict thought he did seem to like keeping to the rules.

Similar yet Different.

Tristan wondered what it was like to have a sibling, someone to fight with. Tristan had never really fought with anyone before. Sure he had been yelled at and abused by the men in his camp back home but he had never really had an argument with someone. He and Percival had never argued because they had rarely spoken to eachother.

_I suppose the other boys will be like brothers soon and I'll be able to argue with them, _he thought to himself and walked back to the training ring.

He stopped at the door and surveyed his companions. Each one was different and unique in their own way yet Tristan could still spot so many likenesses already. The brothers Gawain and Gareth cared for eachother as did Bedivere and his sister. Galahad and Kay were both small yet trying to strive harder to prove themselves good fighters. Bors and Dagonet were both strong, hardy fighters but one was quiet and solid but the other was loud and solid.

All were similar yet different.


	11. Forming Friendships

Lancelot was exhausted and his throat was so dry that he was sure the skin inside it was cracking. But even though it was obvious how week Lancelot was, Hangis still pushed.

"You're not done yet boys".

Lancelot briefly glanced around at his fellow Sarmatians before heaving about the hundredth sack of grain onto a cart. All the others looked about as tired as him and just about ready to faint. Only Dagonet and Bors looked about in the best condition for they were older and stronger. Even the unreadable Tristan looked exhausted.

"Come on. Put your backs into it!"

Lancelot swore under his breath at Hangis. It hadn't been easy leaving his home and entering a new and highly unwanted life and bloody Hangis wasn't making it all that much better.

The day continued and Lancelot didn't think he had ever been so glad to see the darkness of night. Hangis allowed them to go to bed once the sun had disappeared and they all clambered into their room, dragging their feet.

Not a word was spoken but how ever Lancelot knew he wasn't the only one that couldn't sleep. Ever since they had left Sarmatia he hadn't been sleeping very well and it wasn't doing him any good.

All night the miserable thoughts of being trapped on this damn isle for the next fifteen years were embedded in his mind and he felt as though he was trapped in a cage that was locked entirely.

Suddenly the sound of someone getting up came to Lancelot's ears and he sat upright to investigate. He watched with interest as Bedivere crept from their small, crowded room and headed down the corridor. Fixed with curiosity, Lancelot followed.

Bedivere led him out of the sleeping quarters and out into the yard. Lancelot watched as Bedivere looked about cautiously and tiptoed over to the stables. Lancelot smiled as he began to feel as though Bedivere was making a midnight visit to some barmaid or something and couldn't stop himself from following the boy into the stables to have a look.

Voices met with Lancelot's ears.

"Hello there little sister".

Lancelot almost laughed at how wrong he had been. He peered over a stall and watched as Bedivere embraced with his little sister Keighley.

He was astonished by in such a little amount of time the girl already looked different to when he had last seen her. She had been more thin and frail before but now her cheeks were filled and her body wasn't just some stick-frame anymore.

He watched as brother and sister talked for a long, long time and soon he fell asleep.

* * *

"Wakeup".

Lancelot was abruptly shaken awake by someone in front of him.

Groggily he rubbed his eyes so he could focus on what whom was waking him. To his surprise it was Keighley.

"How long were you listening for eh?" she asked with her hands on her hips. Lancelot felt a little bad for listening in on such a private conversation but really he hadn't taken much notice of what they had said.

"I was just following Bedivere; I didn't really hear much of your talking. Anyways I fell asleep as you can see".

Keighley's face turned to a disbelieving look. She held out a hand to help Lancelot to his feet which he gratefully took. "Thanks," he said as he brushed all the hay off his backside. Keighley began to walk out of the stables but she stopped at the door, as if waiting for him. So lancelot hurried to join her.

"I remember you Lancelot and I like you. You were the first and so far the only one who talked to during our journey to here and also Bedivere tells me that you two have become sort of friends".

For such a young girl of such poor living in the past her speaking was very good.

"Thanks-I think," said Lancelot as they walked out into the yard. "Have you made any friends?"

"Keighley nodded her head with a smile as they stopped by the well. "My tutor Hanna is my friend and also I have you".

Lancelot's cheeks burned crimson as Keighley took his hand and squeezed it a little.

"Goodnight Lancelot".

"Goodnight Keighley".

He stood there whole time she walked off and watched her go as if protecting her. What was it that had made him blush? Why was this girl making him feel so strange?

Lancelot pitied the girl and wished Keighley a good life. So he made a small vow to help her along the way. To help his friend.

And little did he know that Bedivere watched the whole time from the window beside Tristan.


	12. Knights

**Five months later…**

Dagonet walked alongside Bors without a word. Over the past few months Dagonet and Bors had come to be sort of friends, but it was indeed a strange friendship. Bors did most of the talking and found it his role to tease Dagonet though he wouldn't allow anyone else to taunt the quiet giant.

Dagonet was not at all unpleased with his role in the friendship for he tried to be a cheerful person but it wasn't in his nature to be all that talkative. So instead, Dagonet had taken to understanding Bors, and learning about his friend. He learnt that Bors liked to be tough, rough and most of the time try and make things into a joke. When it cam to home and freedom though, he didn't joke.

"Stop daydreamin' Dag and hurry up!"

Bors' voice awoke Dagonet from his daydreams and he hurriedly walked after the exiting group of knights.

Yes, that was right, knights. They had undergone months of training. They had suffered many injuries, fought many little battles of their own and been through a lot of hard work to reach the title 'knight'.

All ten of them were packed and ready, following Argus on his great big war horse out of their training quarters.

The littlest of the knights, Kay, was dawdling behind everyone else. It was hard to believe that the small boy of eight was indeed a knight. Nobody could believe it that such a young child could become a knight but Argus had chosen him and usually the Roman commander was right.

"Come on Kay!" called Bors as the boy hurriedly raced to catch up to them.

"I'm coming," mumbled Kay in an annoyed voice.

The littlest knight was growing tired of being treated **like **the littlest even though he was. It bruised his pride and Kay was quite a proud young man. He liked to think he was just as good as everyone else, even if they didn't think so.

* * *

Tristan rode the quiet nag that had been given to him just as he would any other horse. He didn't care wether or not the steed he sat upon was hundred or one year old. But apparently it had mattered to the boys and when they refused to ride the old grey, they were left without a mount.

It was a relief to leave Hangis behind. They were now to have commander Argus to train them from now on.

Tristan almost smiled as he rode along, temporary sword bouncing at his hip. Each boy had been given a sword, only a cheap one not even good for killing someone but it was a sword none the less.

Tristan felt a certain sort of power with a sword by him. He felt the need to use it and swing it around in a manner some would call savage.

The thought of having a sword, a steed and the title of a knight made him feel on top of the world.

**Sorry its short but i want to get to the part where they can all drink and stuff cause this is getting boring. I know its taking forever to update but I got alot on. Soz!!!!!!!!!**


End file.
